


something so precious about this

by Milzilla



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M, alex gets a handprint, character death for like a second
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 22:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18647221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milzilla/pseuds/Milzilla
Summary: alex gets hurt and michael's the only one around who can help





	something so precious about this

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this on my phone @ 3am. my life is outta control
> 
> inspired by yet another [tumblr post](https://signoraviolettavalery.tumblr.com/post/184520319355/space-malex-holy-skam-can-we-please-for-the)

It's not supposed to go down like this. Alex wasn't even supposed to be here. Michael had left him behind in no uncertain terms, despite the wounded looks he'd received. But stupid, brilliant, _brilliant_ Alex had figured out where he was going, had somehow known that he would chase the newly awoken Sargeant Manes to end his story once and for all.

And now Jesse Manes is lying dead on the ground, Alex's bullet in his chest.

And now Alex is crumpling to the ground, the stomach of his shirt blossoming with crimson. Jesse Manes' last gift to his son.

"Alex!"

Michael dives just in time to spare Alex from hitting the hard ground with a thump. He lowers him down gently, hands hovering over every inch of him as he tries to kick his brain into gear. He takes his jacket, rolls it up, and presses it to Alex's wound, ripping a devastating moan of pain from the man in question.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Michael says. "Alex, you gotta stay awake. Fuck, I gotta call Valenti."

But Alex's blood is already soaking through his jacket and his face is so pale and Michael knows, he _knows_.

"Fuck, Alex. I told you to stay away." There's blood on his hands and he's crying? Fuck, why can't he stop crying?

"Couldn't have this -- on your conscience," Alex grits the words out between clenched teeth. "Had to -- keep you safe." He reaches up to clutch at Michael's shirt with shaking hands. Michael does the same, covering Alex's hands with his own.

"I shouldn't have waited." Alex licks his lips, winces against a wave of pain and nausea. "I should've -- come to you -- second I knew you were free."

"I'm free now, Private," Michael says desperately. "You just gotta hold on for me."

But Alex's grip is getting weaker. "I don't want to look away," he murmurs. His eyes fall shut. His hands slip from Michael's shirt.

Michael lets out the kind if wrecked sob he hasn't made since he'd had to abandon his mother in a doomed building. The pain is the same and he thinks he might die from it.

Staring down at Alex, at his _body_ , Michael feels the kind of stark clarity that he imagines Max once felt in the desert all those years ago. He pulls his jacket away from Alex's wound and rips the shirt underneath. There's so much blood that he can't see past it but it doesn't matter because he can _feel_ the bullet, removes it with his mind and flings it to the side somewhere. Then he takes his hand and presses it through the blood to Alex's skin and _pushes_.

It's so different from using his powers, he doesn't even know if he's doing it right, has to go off instinct and every little detail Max had supplied over the years. There's a few seconds where nothing happens and Michael really does lose all hope, has to try and reconcile with a universe that doesn't have Alex Manes in it. It's the longest few seconds of his life.

Then his hand is warm and glowing and Alex is gasping in a ragged breath and the whole world tilts, regaining its axis.

Michael only has enough consciousness left to call Max before he collapses on the ground next to Alex.

*

A few bottles of acetone and Michael's fine, he's conscious, but Alex's lost a lot of blood and that's something he needs a doctor for. Michael holds him gently in the back of the car and ignores Max's curious gaze from the front seat.

They take him to Valenti, who gets Alex a room and an IV without question or raising suspicion. Michael has never felt more grateful to the man but he's not about to start hugging him or anything.

He waits in Alex's room. He washes the blood off in the bathroom sink and then settles into the chair beside Alex's bed, waiting.

*

Sometime later, he doesn't know how long exactly, Michael wakes to a soft groan.

"Hey, you're awake," he says softly.

Alex looks him over with blurry eyes.

"You look like shit."

That makes him bark with laughter, shake his head. "Ironic, isn't it? You get shot and you get to lie there looking like you're heaven sent."

"Are you calling me an angel?" Alex's eyes crinkle gently at the corners, then his gaze focuses into something sharp. He looks down, shifts the hospital gown until his stomach is visible.

Where the bullet had pierced him, where his wound had been, is a shining, iridescent hand print.

"Did Max--?"

"No."

His head snaps back up, looking at Michael warily. He licks his lips, puzzling it out. "But I thought--"

"Turns out anything's possible when it comes to you," is Michael's answer. He flexes his fingers and Alex's gaze is drawn to them, eyes full of wonder and tenderness.

*

Alex is discharged the next day. With no actual wound, Kyle had no reason to keep him there but it's okay because he already looks a hundred times better. Michael drives him back to the cabin, shaking his head when Alex protests that he's fine.

"You were shot!"

"My body doesn't know that," Alex argues. "It's like it never happened."

"Well it did," Michael sulks.

Alex sighs. "How about you come inside for a drink, not because you're on some kind of Alex-watch?"

Michael agrees. Alex doesn't need to know that he can be doing both.

They open some beers and eat leftover pizza from Alex's fridge. The conversation is simple, inane, comfortable, at least until they've finished the pizza.

"Liz told me how these handprints work, you know," Alex says casually.

"I wouldn't know," Michael responds, looking up from where he's been staring at his bottle. "It's my first one."

Alex looks so inordinately pleased by this news that Michael's heart starts hammering against his chest.

"Well," Alex continues. "She says that these flashes I keep getting--" _wait, what flashes?_ "Are feelings or memories from you. Like, echoes."

"I'm sorry," Michael says. " That must be --" chaotic, overwhelming, horrible.

Alex presses a hand over where the handprint lies. "It's overwhelming. I think -- I think what I'm getting is what you were feeling when you healed me."

Michael closes his eyes, sucks in a deep breath. "Fuck, Alex. I'm sorry--"

When he opens his eyes, Alex is standing in front of him, beer abandoned on the bench. He had that steely look of determination in his eyes as he rucks one side of his shirt up, revealing the glowing handprint.

"Please," he says, and Michael can't pretend he doesn't know what Alex is asking.

"I don't know how to control it," he admits in a hoarse whisper. He's already reaching out with a shaking hand though, desperate to make the contact.

"I trust you," Alex says softly.

Michael's fingertips slide against the smooth skin of Alex's stomach and that alone is nearly enough to make him lose himself. He feels when his palm makes contact with the handprint, feels the pull of connection and emotion, lets himself fall through.

 _walking through the desert hand-in-hand with max and isabel - foster home after foster home - finding max and isabel again - that night in the desert - alex, offering him shelter - nearly kissing in the toolshed, realizing he wanted it more than anything - the ufo museum, giddiness, happiness - the toolshed afterwards, hot spikes of pleasure, the feeling of belonging - the pain afterwards - years and years and years and_ **_alex._ ** _alex here and now and just as much love and belonging but it's different now, more grown up and realistic but so_ **_strong_ ** _and that sense of belonging, of family._

When he pulls away, they're both in tears. Michael feels open and raw, like Alex has crawled inside him and seen everything that he is. He tries to pull further away but Alex puts a hand over his, keeping it pressed above the handprint.

"No, please," he begs. "Wait."

And then he feels that connection spark again, only this time it's _pushing_ on his mind, pleading to be let in. He lets it.

 _bruises and beatings and pain -_ **_michael,_ ** _the softest thing he's ever touched, the gentlest thing he's ever watched his father destroy - years and years and years and_ **_his leg_ ** _\- and coming back to michael again and again - protecting him from his father, always protecting michael from jesse manes, first for loving alex and now because he's an alien - the utter devastation at seeing him with maria, the hope when he'd heard they weren't together - following him to keep him safe - dying and hating the wasted time between them - love and love and loving him loving michael always loving him._

This time when Michael breaks away, it's to take Alex by the face and kiss him breathless. The tears are still running down both their faces but he doesn't care, just changes the angle and pulls Alex flush against him.

Alex's hands are on the small of his back, fingers digging into to the skin as he whispers, gasps Michael's name into the kiss.

"Stay," he says, when they have to breathe.

Michael smiles. "The night?"

"Forever," Alex amends, then goes red with embarrassment.

Michael swipes his thumbs over those cheeks and nods, leaning forward to kiss Alex again and again.


End file.
